Chapter Text
Jason leaves Roy in their apartment that morning, the last of the summer sunrise golden through the blinds as Jason pulls on a pair of shorts and an old crew neck he’d stolen from Dick. Roy mumbles in his sleep as Jason kisses him on his bare shoulder, and then he takes Roy’s cap as he leaves the apartment and makes his way to the Manor.
The sun has fully risen by time he pulls up to the Manor gates. There’s a smell in the air that tells him rain is coming later on, and Jason pockets his keys as he makes his way through to the conservatory. He already knows she’ll be there waiting for him, and as predicted, she is.
“You came.” Talia smiles; folds the Gotham Gazette in half as she rises to her feet, kisses him softly on his cheek. In the corner, Titus snuffles against the tile.
“I have coffee. Alfred is bringing food in soon, once Damian has been dressed. I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to be having a proper meal with my two boys again.” Talia says, sits back at her chair and gestures for Jason to pull one up beside her.
He pulls off his hat and scrapes one hand through his hair as the other tries not to scrape metal against tile. Talia pours him a cup from the moka pot and drops two heaped spoons of cream into it for him. It makes his heart pull that she remembers that’s how he used to drink it in the Fortress.
They sit in companionable silence. Talia turns her attention back to the last few pages of her paper and Jason scans his eyes over the room. Long ago, back when he used to live in the Manor, the conservatory had only been used as a backup nursery Alfred would use for the plants not yet ready for the main garden. Large monstera are dotted about in the corners beside the doorway onto the lawn, and a large stone sculpture sits at one wall a few feet away from the table placed in the middle of the room.
“This was Damian’s idea, this room.” Jason states; it’s so similar to the private rooftop terrace he used to have back when he was growing up in the Fortress. Talia’s lip quirks.
“Yes, I suppose it was. It’s fascinating how well you know him, even after all these years.” She notes, brings her cup up to take a sip of coffee. Jason shrugs.
“He hasn’t changed much.”
“Ah, now you and I both know that is a disservice to him. He has softened, which is all I could have hoped for when I sent him here to Gotham. It is becoming of him.”
“Tt. Mother. Please, refrain from saying such things in such company.” Damian says, waltzing into the room with Ace on his heels. His eyebrows are turned down, a sign of the personal affront that he’s being spoken about while not present. He rounds the table, nods at Jason when their eyes meet, and then begrudgingly kisses his mother on the forehead.
“Alfred is bringing breakfast in two minutes.” He tells them, and pulls up a third chair.
“We were discussing your penchant for interior design, my son. The conservatory really does look beautiful.” Talia says, and though Damian sends her a short look under his eyelids, Jason knows he’s secretly crowing at the praise from his mother. He pours his own cup of coffee, dumps in three sugar cubes, and takes two large gulps before speaking again.
“Mother is returning home tomorrow.” Damian says, and Jason nods. Figures - even though the Justice League had seemed more than happy to assist with the round up of Ra’s final men, Jason knows Talia is too proud to not get her hands dirty where necessary. He’s fairly certain there will also be some kind of power struggle, foes and friends of the al Ghul’s all itching to see if anyone can take Ra’s place.
Talia returning to the Fortress is the way this always would have ended, and as happy as Jason lets himself be to see her again, he knows it’s the best thing for them all.
“Can’t imagine what it must be like having to clear through all of Ra’s belongings. It isn’t a job I envy.” Jason says, and Talia purses her lips.
“Indeed. I don’t suppose I could convince you and your Arsenal to join me? Who knows what treasures we may uncover.” Talia responds, and Jason barks out a laugh, shaking his head ‘no’.
“No offence, Talia, but you couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to return to that Godforsaken place.” Is what Jason says, and maybe it’s because Alfred walks in at that moment with a tray of croissants and fruit and yoghurt, or it’s because like with everything else between them this just happens to also go unspoken, that Talia does nothing but smile placatingly and nod.
“I would like to visit you. Not immediately, as I have my piano recital next month, but more frequently than I have in the past.” Damian announces, and Talia nods as she bites into a strawberry.
“Perhaps. A few months time should be enough for everything to settle down. You will, however, need to ask permission from your father.” She says, and even Alfred’s eyebrows raise at that. He places the tray between the three of them, and pulls up the final chair.
“Ms al Ghul, for as much as you confess to adoring Master Wayne you certainly hold no punches when it comes to ageing him quickly.” Alfred says, and Jason reaches across his coffee to pick up one, two croissants, and a slice of melon for the hell of it.
“I am sixteen in less than a month, Mother. I go out on patrol as Robin on my own as much as I go alongside The Batman. I have friends in that awful school of mine whose parents are separated and live across the world from one another - they are all allowed to fly to see whichever one they so choose at will.” Damian says, piles an ungodly amount of strawberry jam onto his croissant and tears the thing to shreds.
Jason wonders, briefly, if he was this disgusting with his breakfast when he was fifteen.
“My darling, I would love nothing more than for you to visit me. But your father has sole custody, and is also the one with the private plane not on multiple authority watchlists. We will discuss it this evening over dinner.” Talia says, with a note of finality in her voice, and Damian huffs out a breath before starting on the second half of his croissant.
Jason swallows his own mouthful.
“Didn’t know you had friends, kid.” Is what he comes up with, nudges Damian’s foot under the table, and Damian sucks crumbs off his thumb.
“Says you, Todd. If Harper was actually dead you would have a grand total of zero.”
“Wow. Kick a man when he’s down, huh? And you’re wrong, by the way. I have plenty of friends.” Jason says, and Damian rolls his eyes.
They continue their conversations over breakfast; Alfred entertains Talia’s question about the new electric Lexus he’s bought for his errands, Damian sneaks Titus and Ace strawberries under the table, and Jason finishes the rest of the coffee as he sits and lets this easy comfort wash over him. He thinks of Roy, and of Colorado, and of unfinished business and of death. It’s no longer a paralysing thought.
“Are we doing this, still? The garden?” He asks, and Talia clasps her hands.
“Mr Pennyworth, the bulbs…?” She asks, and Alfred nods.
“Let us clean up breakfast, and then I will leave the garden to the three of you.” Alfred says, and Jason carries the tray of empty plates and coffee dreg mugs into the kitchen, almost forgetting where they all are.
He walks into the large butlers pantry looking for the washing up liquid, and almost runs straight into Bruce’s back. He thinks of Roy’s words two nights ago, and tries to push away that feeling like he’s treading water.
He moves to put an arms length distance between him and Bruce.
“When you’re done sneaking granola bars for breakfast, can you pass me the soap?” He asks; wonders if Talia had talked to Bruce about breakfast and he’d ditched them or if it had been an unspoken agreement that he just wasn’t going to join.
Bruce swallows, and nods.
“Wasn’t granola. It was a mint chocolate protein ball that Dick has started buying.” Bruce says, and Jason shrugs.
“Say no more, B. I don’t need to be brought in for questioning the next time Alfred’s lecturing you about your shitty diet. The soap? Please?” He asks again, and Bruce opens his mouth like he’s about to snap back a retort before promptly closing it and instead passing Jason the bottle of Dawn.
Jason makes his way to the sink and purposefully doesn’t say anything further as Bruce leaves the kitchen. When Damian enters a few seconds later to start drying down the dishes on the rack, he doesn’t say anything then either.
But that does it. The ball in Bruce’s court, for lack of a better metaphor. Jason lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding and tries not to crack the china in the sink as he scrubs. If this all goes to shit, at least he has Roy back to bring down with him.
—-------
True to his word, Alfred inspects the clean kitchen and then marches the three of them out to the garden, where the new rose bush bulbs sit in neatly stacked pots along the flowerbed. He demonstrates for them: how to prepare the soil, how to remove the bulbs from their small pots, and how to ensure they’re planted correctly. It’s clear neither Damian or Talia have ever planted anything in their lives before - both of them watching Alfred with vested interest and eyeing up the tiny tools. Jason remembers, though, his first Spring at the manor, assisting Alfred with the peonies he was planting for the summer ball that year.
It goes unspoken between them, but Alfred does hand Jason his favourite spade.
They work like that for a few hours, pausing to drink water and tea and snack on various plates of food Alfred brings out for them as the sun gets higher and higher in the sky. They’re about a third of the way through when Talia sits up, her hairline sweaty and skin golden under the sun. She pauses, her attention caught elsewhere, and Jason follows her line of sight to the conservatory doors, Bruce leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and face blank.
Creeper.
“My beloved, did your meetings finish for the day?” She calls out, and Jason, God. Jason loves her like a mother and a mentor and knows all the stories and how they end but still cannot for the life of him wrap his head around the Bruce and Talia story.
Jason wonders if she’s even aware of Selina and the wedding that wasn’t.
“Only had one this morning. This garden is looking good.” Bruce comments, walking over to join them, and Talia smiles.
“Indeed. I think Pennyworth will be proud. I am rather famished, however, and I must make myself presentable for dinner this evening. Damian, you as well.” She instructs, and Damian spares a glance for his parents and back down to the bulb he’s just planted, a satisfied look on his face.
“Finally. I cannot understand how Alfred finds this calming.” He says, and Jason snorts. He’s too busy watching Damian that he misses Talia and Bruce murmuring to one another under their breaths, and when his eyes catch Bruce’s movements, he notices Bruce’s hands rolling each of his sleeves up scarred forearms.
Jason knows this move, but for the first time, can’t figure out the execution.
Talia and Damian stand, Damian helping his mother to her feet and Talia wiping her dirty hands on her pants. She doesn’t hesitate to scold Damian as he motions to follow her action.
"Mother, you did the exact same--" Damian begins to protest, but Talia raises one brow and that seems to be the end of it. Jason focuses on the trowel in front of him as Bruce kneels where Talia was, his own hands reaching out to pick up one of the remaining bulbs.
He hears Talia and Damian leave and then it’s just the two of them. They work in silence, the sound of the water fountain trickling in the background as they plant the new bushes together. Jason's lower back is starting to hurt, the hours of bending over finally taking its toll. He sighs and sits up, a dirty gloved hand wiping over his brow.
Bruce continues, but his movements slow.
"I didn't get a chance to tell you, on the plane. You... “ He pauses, his throat clicking as he swallows. “Thank you, for coming to Damian's aid." Bruce starts, and Jason curses Roy and his occasional wit, because there you’d have it. Him and Bruce, really doing this. Talking and shit.
"He's my brother, Bruce. Wasn't gonna leave the kid behind, even if it did mean less room on the plane trip home." Jason answers, and the line of Bruce's back tenses.
"I should have asked more, about your time with Talia. About your time with Damian. I'm sorry for that."
"Aw, B, don't apologise. It’s not like I would have told you anyways." Jason says, and that's the truth. Bruce would have asked and Jason would have avoided the question, or lashed out, or asked questions of his own to deflect. He's itching again, restless, but stamps down on the urge to stand and walk back into the Manor. Bruce continues working the garden in front of him, and exhales.
“I suppose I deserve that.”
“Yeah, old man. You do.” Jason says, watches as Bruce finishes with the last bulb and buries it, fists that grasp the earth now the same ones that would have nearly ten years ago as Bruce threw the first handful of dirt over Jason’s casket.
Jason wants to ask so much, but he doesn’t. They may be talking but they’re not at the stage of really getting into things yet, and for once Jason doesn’t want to ruin this moment between them. Bruce hums, pleased, and sits back to admire his work. The rows of rose bulbs sit proud under the sun, and Jason and Bruce sit almost shoulder to shoulder.
“Another thing I didn’t get the chance to say to you earlier. Though it is not what I would have done… You did good, Jason. With Ra’s, Talia, all of it. I can see why Damian trusted you.” Bruce says, voice soft over the breeze, and Jason stills.
It’s like being doused with cold water. No yelling? No judgement? ‘ There you are ’, is what Jason hears, as he and Bruce peel back their last layers until all there’s left to grasp is wet and bloody flesh. That feeling rises in Jason’s throat, familiar and hot, and he finally recognises what it is.
It’s grief.
Jason lets out an "Oh," the sound settling between the two of them. Bruce turns to look at him, then, his eyes searching. Jason looks back, finally meeting the challenge.
He sees Bruce reach out and doesn't recoil as Bruce lays his hand flat on the nape of Jason’s neck, sweat and dirt mixing at Jason’s hairline. Something shifts between them.
This isn’t forgiveness, but Jason supposes it’s a start.
“You’re still a huge asshole, you know.” Jason says, but the words are choked up. He thinks he can feel tears on his cheeks, but he can’t bear to move, for fear of cracking this stalemate of theirs.
Bruce nods.
“I know. You’re not the first to tell me this, over the last few months. You’re actually last on my list to make amends with.” Bruce says, and Jason nods.
“Why, scared of the big Red Hood?” Jason asks, mostly trying to be sarcastic, but honestly he wants to know - is this what Bruce feared, all those years ago, when he was lecturing Jason over broken kneecaps?
Bruce shrugs.
“No, not scared. Frustrated, absolutely. It seemed every move I made against you, you had a retaliation - it really pissed me off, for lack of a better explanation.” Bruce lets out a sigh through his nose. “You were last on my list because honestly, I didn’t know where to start with you. There were also my actions on the rooftop I had to apologise for but didn’t know how to - I was sure that had put an end to our relationship for good.” Bruce explains, finally uncurls his hand from Jason’s skin.
Jason’s grief settles at that spot on the nape of his neck, appeased by the grounding touch of recognition from the person who had put it there in the first place.
Jason shudders.
“Well… Shit. Okay. I’m not about to move into the Manor and play happy families with you all, B, but I suppose I don’t hate the thought of us trying to understand one another a bit better.”
Bruce is still as Jason speaks, the fading sun picking up the grey flecks in his hair.
The old man nods once, an agreement.
“An understanding? Well, I suppose that’s as good a start as any, Jaylad.” Bruce says, and Jason looks down at the ground so he doesn’t have to see how Bruce is looking at him.
Jason thinks of Roy, of promises made at two in the morning. Of Damian and Talia and unfinished jobs across the country that need the Red Hood to tie up loose ends. He thinks of those last few weeks in the Manor before it was all violently torn away from him.
He thinks of the Lazarus Pit and the rage that no longer simmers constantly in his blood. He thinks of coffins and digging through wet dirt to break surface. He thinks of drowning.
He thinks of his father. He wonders if he’ll ever hope to call Bruce that again.
“I suppose I should get one thing out of the way, actually, if we’re going to be trying that whole 'be nice to each other' moment. I’m going to Star City with Roy soon - I don’t suppose you can subdue Oliver Queen for me when he finds out a Bat is on his turf?” Jason asks, tone casual.
Jason thinks of grief. Of the warm feeling that's settled across his back. A good grief? he wonders. It's nice to achieve it after all these years.
The look Bruce shoots him is one of despair and resignation all in one. Jason grins.
In Jason's opinion, It’s really the least the motherfucker deserves.